Walking the streets of CeC was an ongoing delight. There were crooked houses, many leaning against the other for support (we know how it feels, our empathy now extends to old buildings); rivers, canals and old bridges to the extent that the word – ‘Venice’ – is often whispered; a home made park – ‘Le petit jardin’ – with its own little hills and river in the shadows of one of the many grand old buildings; a Cathedral that mixes Gothic with Baroque; a church framed by one of the towns rivers; and much more hidden behind closed doors.
Reluctantly we left our home in the roof overlooking the stunning square, the light dulled by its light grey canvas which had been very damp all night but was now dry. Bridges crossed and rivers followed, a few younger runners passed, a bike or two, by a park and out of town.
While the tarmac was dry, the path wasn’t. It looked okay but after 100 metres our shoes were changing fashion with a sudden build up of mud. Usually it is the wet grass I avoid because of my non-waterproof shoes, but now it was my path of choice for the next few kms. The usual covered river paths filtered the rain for a while but eventually the ponchos took over as the open fields appeared.
Lovely Chambre d’hote hosts welcomed us with hot drinks and introduced us to our new house mates. Two recently retired Germans driving round France and a French woman walking like us. A lot of talking (in three languages) about previous jobs and earlier walks before dinner, which our hosts weren’t prepared for because (after a failed attempt to call and not receiving the promised callback) we went through booking.com which wasn’t all that interested in those details. The owners will cook us something anyway, and after will also arrange tomorrow night’s sleep for us.
